Through a Glass Darkly
by Laurielove
Summary: Hermione is imprisoned in Malfoy Manor. Lucius Malfoy has needs. And if Lucius Malfoy wants something, he generally gets it. But someone is watching. Still, if you're Lucius Malfoy, that's not necessarily a bad thing. HG/LM. Bad Lucius. Innocent Hermione. For a while, at least. Mature readers only, please. Ongoing.
1. Chapter 1

**He refuses to be ignored, doesn't he? Lucius, that is. So here he is, refusing to be ignored. **

**This one's a little different. This one's very naughty. Lucius is very naughty indeed. If you're looking for redeemed Lucius, you won't find him here, although I will allow him a touch of ambiguity from time to time. But, no, this is a Lucius who likes to manipulate and plot and taunt and take. This is Bad Lucius. This is supremely Arrogant Lucius. And this is very, very Sexy Lucius. **

**I've written it from his point of view. It's almost stream of consciousness. **

**A little background: It takes a slightly warped time frame. Hermione and Ron are imprisoned in Malfoy Manor while the Dark Lord uses it for his purposes. Now, this may be a variation of what happened in Deathly Hallows, or you can see it more as an AU where Voldemort's powers have lasted longer than that time frame allowed and Ron and Hermione have somehow been captured. Warning: Lucius really isn't very nice to Ron here.**

**Now look here, my dears. After you've read this, pop over to Amazon and search for the other me, DEMELZA HART. If you buy my book 'Spontaneous' - and then if you're extra nice and write a review - I'll be so pleased that I'll update incredibly frequently. Yes. I've resorted to bribery and corruption, but who cares. It's a tough world out there, the world of publishing, and you're the people who know me best. Trust me, you won't regret it. It's a stonkingly hot read. And the main man is oh so similar to a few men we know all too well. Yours for only 49p or 78 cents. Straight to your Kindle, phone, PC or tablet. THANK YOU! Mwa mwa!**

**And now ... over to Lucius. Watch out. Gird your loins. LL x**

* * *

It's a wonderful thing, magic.

One can use it to contrive the most delightful situations. For example, picture the scene:

I have in my – how to put it? _protection_, shall we say – two people, a man and a woman. You may know them. They are associates of that mewling spawn, Potter. They're currently being held at the Dark Lord's pleasure. In my house. In my dungeons. (Yes, I have dungeons. They tend not to be advertised. People are more interested in the Queen Anne furniture and Jacobean tracery, but yes, we have dungeons. And they do come in handy on occasion. Now is one such occasion.)

The man is in one cell, the woman in another, adjacent, separated by a wall. Now, depending on the enchantment to each individual, this wall can be perceived as solid stone or glass, and it can be rendered sound-proofed or not, according to the individual's … requirements.

Do you see what I'm getting at? Rather fun, don't you think?

I have engineered it so that the woman believes she is simply in a cell of four thick stone walls. She can neither see nor hear anything in the adjacent cell.

The man, on the other hand, can see and hear everything going on in her cell, yet he cannot touch or move through the barrier. It feels like glass to him, clear, flat, hard and cold. But he can hear through it – every sound and whisper and murmur she makes.

And as for me? I can see what I want, when I want. For now, I have entranced it so that I can see and hear into either cell. Say, for example, I was to somehow find myself in the girl's cell, I would be able to see the man beyond. If in the man's cell, I can likewise see and hear everything.

Why, you ask? Allow me to tell you.

I find myself faced with a dilemma. A quandary. Yet one which provides its own solution, and certainly its own satisfaction.

They have been prisoners here for three weeks, nearly four, I lose track. We have been told to bide our time, to keep them alive, to keep them coherent. Why, I have asked myself frequently. After all, what are they to us? It is not them we seek, but him – Potter – the half-blood runt. Instead we have him, Weasley, a befreckled flea and … her. Granger. Muggle-born. (You see how I become tolerant in my old age? I haven't used the other term in a while. I impress even myself.)

But she is the quandary.

Damn her.

It happened almost immediately, and came as something of a shock, I admit.

I _noticed_ her.

She drew my eye. Not deliberately. No. She lacks the self-awareness for that.

_Damn_ her.

If she were more self-aware, more imbued with the self-conscious arrogance of youth, I may not be presented with this predicament. But she is so entirely unencumbered by vanity. Never have I seen someone so effortlessly at ease with their own being and place in the world.

_Damn her_.

She draws my eye. After all, there is little else of any interest to draw it at the moment. My wife … no. Her withdrawal of affection is unequivocal, and I have humored her by withdrawing mine.

But one does have needs, and one does have urges.

And my urge, currently, is Granger.

I want her.

And I will have her.

Surprising, you may say. A Pureblood desiring a Mudblood. (Oh, a slip – forgive me. Old habits die hard.)

I confess to finding it disturbing. But she is so very … unaware. Unaware of her own beauty – yes, even her … especially her.

Unaware of me.

As of yet.

That will change. Of course.

Why not simply take her, I hear you say. Force myself on her. She is already bound within magical wards. I admit, it would be easy enough.

Yet that does not appeal. I have never been one for violence. Too messy. In any case, victory will be so much sweeter if there is complete capitulation. Beyond capitulation: if she desires me. If she wants me, cries out for me, _begs_ for me.

And he will watch, of course. She won't know, but he will watch. He will watch her shame. And his. (You see where the magic of the wall comes in? Such fun.)

They are kept separately, taunted with the occasional glimpse, tormented by the occasional curse and sound of pain. Not inflicted by me. No. Like I said, violence does not appeal. But there are plenty more who are more than willing to humour the Dark Lord. I prefer to remain out of earshot at those times. I concede its efficacy, but admit to finding physical torture distasteful. I have never been one to derive pleasure from it. Not from that. And torture can be exacted in different ways, after all. Mental torment … now that can be very useful. And pleasure can be found in so many different ways, after all.

Pleasure with her … that is my current preoccupation. I want it. I want her. But how to ensure her compliance? Seduction will be difficult, one would think, given the circumstances.

But I begin anyway.

I notice she has not eaten for over a day. Her food is returned intact. Stubbornness, I assume. I have a plan. I have acquired some strawberries. Big, fat, ripe and red, their juices fit to burst out. I put them on a plate and make my way down to the dungeons. To her cell. Weasley, the worm, is next door. He will see.

I knock. (After all, one must remember one's manners.)

There is, predictably, no reply. It matters not. I go in anyway.

She is sitting, slumped, her hair hanging over her face. Her long legs are curled under her but when I enter she is startled and stretches them out as she looks round. Her eyes are cold with loathing. When thinking of what is to come, I find it stupendously erotic.

'Miss Granger,' – politeness appeals to her, I imagine – 'I notice you are not eating.'

No response. She turns away.

I approach with the plate of strawberries and place them in her line of vision. She refuses to look at them.

'Miss Granger, you must eat.'

She does not turn round. Her stubbornness is at once infuriating and enthralling.

'Come. Try some.'

'Not from you.' Words at last. Her voice oozes hatred. My cock stirs.

'I wish to ensure you eat.'

'Why?'

'It is in my interest to maintain your well-being, clearly, but also …' I let the phrase dangle there deliberately, tempting her curiosity. It works. She turns a furtive gaze on me. 'I do not like to see a fellow human suffering.' Oh, I am good.

She sneers. 'I didn't think you considered me a fellow human.'

Partly true, I concede, but feign otherwise with an overly concerned furrow of the brows and a slight catch of the tip of my tongue on my teeth. So sensual, I find. 'Miss Granger … of course I do. What do you take me for?'

'A duplicitous, prejudiced murderous Death Eater.'

'But not a monster?' I query with a touch of vulnerable hesitation.

She shoots me a glare. 'The monstrous can be well-hidden.'

'Well-hidden? How do you mean?'

'I mean that it can lurk beneath an otherwise attractive exterior.' Ooh, progress. I confess to being a little surprised. I thought my associations would have dulled my obvious physical attributes in her eyes. Apparently not. I allow myself a little glow of pride.

'An attractive exterior? Are you referring to me, Miss Granger? I'm flattered.'

'I meant … I didn't say that … you were … I just meant …' She gives up, flustered. How delicious.

The conversation has enthralled me so I have almost forgotten Weasley. I look around. He is sitting with his back to us, leaning against his wall, which I, and he, see as glass. I give him a little smirk. He turns away with a sneer, and I focus back on his woman.

I pick up the plate and hold it out to her. 'Come now. Look how ripe and succulent these are. How can anyone resist? Just a little bite.'

I take the reddest, roundest strawberry I can find and hold it before her. She tries to ignore it, to turn away, but I note her eyes dart briefly to it.

'So good, isn't it? After all that endless bland, tasteless nothingness … just one little bite. Think of it. Think of how your taste buds will explode, your mouth will revel in the tangy sweetness – think how the juice will soothe and coat your dry throat. Hmm …?'

She glances again, her eyes now fixed on the fruit. And then the clincher. Her tongue – oh, that tongue – darts out to dampen her lips. I am as hard as rock but impress myself with my cool exterior.

I edge it closer. 'Come on … come on … open, just a little …' I open my own mouth in an attempt to induce hers to do the same.

It works. She opens and the strawberry nudges her lips. I press further, and her lips part around it, as plump and ruddy as the strawberry itself. I'm hypnotised by the sight but manage to keep myself in check. I allow myself a slight curl of a smile as I feel the fruit push further in, until her teeth rest around the tip.

'A little bite, Miss Granger.'

She looks at me, briefly, her eyes heavy with capitulation, and her neat little teeth sink through the firm flesh, breaking through. I feel the leak of anticipation oozing from my rigid cock and suck in a breath. When she has bitten down fully, I pull the fruit back. A little dribble of juice sits at the corner of her mouth. Without thinking, I lift a finger and catch it. I hesitate, then edge it towards her lips. To my surprise and glee, she opens. I slip the finger in. Her tongue flits along my finger, firm wet warmth. My smile deepens. I do not withdraw my finger. And then, suddenly and with complete equanimity, she closes her mouth around it and sucks.

Oh sweet, sweet bliss.

My finger is absorbed into the wet nest of her mouth, her cheeks pull in around it and her tongue twists about it. Has she forgotten herself? It doesn't matter. I want it to go on. I cannot remember a moment of such sensual perfection.

But then she seems to come to her senses. Her eyes, which have closed in concentration, dart open and she pulls back, opening her mouth and relinquishing her hold on me.

'You are hungry, it would seem, Miss Granger.' My voice cannot entirely hide my wonder at what has just transpired. Every inch of my body craves her. But I'll wait.

I must wait. The art of seduction – especially under these circumstances – is a precise and patient one. That is enough for today.

I place the bowl of strawberries before her. She has turned from me again. With my finger still damp from her sucking, I leave her, locking the door behind me.

But I don't go far. I turn to the left and let myself into the cell next door. Weasley is sitting slumped with his back on the glass separating him from her. I can see her beyond, eating the strawberries slowly and delectably.

'Mr Weasley,' I say, as if greeting an old friend. Ha! The irony!

'Don't fucking call me that.'

'Very well … Worm. Is that better?'

He practically snarls at me.

'Worm … yes, I like that. It has a particularly base quality about it, both in meaning and sound, don't you think? It suits you very well.'

He attempts to spit at me but it doesn't reach. He is prevented from attack by invisible bonds and wards. The glob lands a few feet before me. I come closer, nimbly avoiding it.

'Anyway, Worm, I'm sure you saw that little interchange between Hermione and me. She is a hungry girl, indeed. Once she had my finger she latched onto it and sucked for dear life. I can feel it now.' I hold up the finger and study it. 'Her lips pulled in tight, her tongue … oh, her tongue … what a little slut she could be – firm, agile, wrapping her way around me. Gods, I can imagine only one thing, of course: what it will be like when she has that succulent mouth of hers wrapped around my cock. Perhaps you can tell me?' I kneel down beside him and query insistently. 'Does she – how does one say in common parlance? – give good head? Does she love going down on a man? Is she a good little cock sucker?'

Surely he'll try for me again, but he manages to rail in his fury and turns away.

'Hmm, Worm? No answer? Then I assume you don't know. Have no fear. When she sucks me off, I'll ensure you have front row seats. You'll find out then.'

And I leave him.

* * *

**So there we have it. Plenty more where that came from. And it just gets ... well, you can imagine. My mind works in - quite frankly - filthy ways. Don't forget the goodies by Demelza Hart. After all, it's nearly Christmas. You deserve some treats. More very soon. Don't forget to join me on facebook - Laurielove. I'm so excited about this one and getting inside Lucius' wicked mind! LL x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Moving swiftly on. Thank you for your reviews. Glad you're enjoying. (Don't forget your Laurielove double dose with my alter ego Demelza Hart's new book, Spontaneous. The links are on my profile page.)**

**Now ... I told you Lucius was naughty. You'd think some revelations would bring out the gentleman in someone ... hmm ... Depends what your definition of gentleman is.**

* * *

I leave her for two days. I go into the Worm's cell and stand with my back turned on him. I just stand and watch her and occasionally offer little morsels of offending taunts. 'What ripe breasts. They will fit so perfectly in my hands. And see how the nipples harden in the cold. Tight little knots, craving touch. My tongue is itching to lick them. When, I wonder? I shall have to consult my diary. I don't imagine self-control is a strong quality of yours, Worm; you must have dribbled unstoppably when around her. What a mess. Tut. Pathetic whelp.'

I've cast a ward around him. He can't reach more than two strides towards me. He tries. He certainly tries. His anger is obvious, I'll give him that.

After two days, I can't stand anymore and seek her out again. As expected, she does not glance up or speak. I look towards the Worm's cell. He is sitting with his back to us, but he glances over his shoulder.

'Are you comfortable, Miss Granger?'

She scoffs. 'Is that a trick question?'

'You are enduring this very well. I am impressed.'

'Your impressions of me, Malfoy, are entirely irrelevant.'

I come and sit down beside her on the floor. Disgusting, I know, but there are times when one must suffer hardship for reward. I give a little sigh and let my head fall back against the wall. Then I am silent. She'll wonder what I'm doing. She can't help herself.

Sure enough, after a while, she turns to glance at me.

'Why are you here?'

I wait a little before answering enigmatically, 'I'm not sure.'

'Well, go then.'

'If I did … I'd have to go back … up there.' A little hint of regret – she'll like that.

'It's your house.'

I give another brief sigh and pick at a loose thread on my robes. She is still looking across at me. 'Well, you see, I don't feel that it really is any longer.'

She is itching to ask me more. I can sense her breathing growing faster. Her curious little mind can't wait to question me, but she is trying so hard to fight it. The seconds tick away. I wait.

'What do you mean?'

Success! She has caved at last.

I give another little sigh. (I'm getting rather good at them: not too dramatic and heavy handed, but audible enough to seem real.) 'My house is being used, Miss Granger … by him. I have little freedom. He takes my possessions, he abuses my belongings: precious treasures which have been in my family for centuries.'

She shrugs dismissively. 'They're just material things.'

'Oh, I don't mean that. You know what I mean, surely?' (I'll appeal to her sense of empathy.) 'No. I mean things which have an emotional bond, things which have significance to me with regard to my … mother.' (The magic word.) As expected, she settles. The bristling tension dissipates. I glance over. She is looking at me, a new expression of curiosity in her eyes.

I let my eyes glaze over as if remembering the halcyon days of my childhood. (I intend to pretend, but … while I think back … I can hear a small boy's laughter … distant …)

I stare ahead of me.

'You have power and influence,' she says. 'Tell him you don't want him to do that.'

I look at her. 'Tell him? The Dark Lord? Impossible.' Does she still believe I have any sway whatsoever over him? 'My influence over him ceased the moment I …'

I hang my head. A strange sensation has taken hold. I don't like it. I don't like the memories. I fall quiet. Not entirely what I'd intended. But – out of adversity comes triumph – it has the desired effect … and more.

She speaks quite calmly. 'One day it will all be over.'

I glance at her. She really is the most ridiculously accepting individual. Beautiful little idiot.

'Is that all we are doing? Waiting for the end? Then you are a more patient person than me, Miss Granger.'

She shrugs again and turns away, her face hardening.

I study her intently, ensuring she can feel my gaze boring into her. She refuses to look around this time. 'You do cope very well, but then again, you are used to periods of deprivation. You were on the run, after all, a long time.'

'Thanks to you and your lackeys.'

It is a relief in a way that our conversation has reverted to this tussle of words. I take advantage.

'Just think … in a tent … you and … who was it again?'

'My friends.'

'Your friends. How charming. Male friends?'

'Yes.'

'What fun you must have had. Two young men all to yourself in a tent. Lucky girl.'

'It wasn't like that.'

'Oh, surely. A beautiful young woman like you, with two brave young men at your disposal, both of whom clearly dote on you like slobbering little puppy dogs. Why not take advantage?'

She glares. I've touched a nerve. 'Because I'm clearly not the slut you seem to think.'

I feign umbrage. 'I would never say such a thing.'

'You implied it.'

'In which case, I apologise. But once one has relinquished the inconvenience of virginity, it really serves no purpose not to –' I glance at her. At the word virginity she reddens and drops her head. Ooh, what's this? I have revealed an innocence. Well well, who would have thought it? Quite an accomplishment for such a radiant little thing.

'My my. It seems you guard not only the secrets of your mind, Miss Granger. What a wonder in this modern world of ours. How old are you?'

'Nineteen,' she mutters.

'And _virgo intacta_, no less?'

'I didn't say that.'

'You deny it?'

She doesn't reply but turns her eyes to mine briefly. I take it as confirmation.

How exhilarating. How invigorating. I will be her first. I feel my cock leaping for joy already.

'I confess that I find it curious that a girl of your maturity and beauty –' I pause to let the compliment register. I note the flush of her cheeks. '- would not have chosen to relieve herself of her virginity.'

'Why should I?'

'You have a lover, don't you?'

She looks away, uncomfortable with Worm being referred to as such – he isn't, clearly.

'I wouldn't put it like that.' Of course she wouldn't. It isn't true.

'Oh? Do not tell me you intend to wait for marriage? Come now, Miss Granger. This is 21st century Britain, after all.'

'It's nothing to do with that.'

'I couldn't wait to rid myself of the burden of it.' A little personal revelation always goes down well, I find.

'Well, I want it to be …'

'What?'

She grows thoughtful. It's almost touching. 'I want it to be … momentous.'

'Of course you do. And have you not yet had momentous opportunities?'

She purses her lips, but her candour is delightful. 'Clearly not.'

I proceed carefully but sense I'm on a roll. 'What would make it momentous?'

She stares ahead of her, a dreamy quality capturing her. 'Something unstoppable. Something irrevocable. Something which will imprint itself on me forever.'

'And with the right person … of course.'

'The right person at the time, yes.'

'At the time?'

'_For_ the time.'

'Does that mean he does not always have to be the right person?'

'He has to be the right person for _that_.'

I pause then offer: 'And Weasley is not.'

'Go away.' She seems to remember herself and shuffles away from me.

'Why?'

'I don't know why I'm telling you these things.'

I approach her, going closer, studying her, searing her eyes with mine. She has no choice but to hold my gaze, her deep brown eyes open and taking.

'Because it works. It works … with _me_. Doesn't it?'

'Leave me alone.' Her words lack conviction.

I get up to leave, but then turn back and approach her, not touching, but enough to make her eyes widen. 'Think about it, Miss Granger. Think. You're good at that.'

Then I leave. My cock protests, but it can wait. I ignore the Worm. Disdain can often achieve more than ridicule.

* * *

**Oh, Lucius, you sly dog. **

**(PS - If you have read Spontaneous, especially my American friends, could I pretty please ask you to leave a review if you are willing. They make such a difference. Thank you in advance.)**

**More of this very soon. LL x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Onwards. Take note, this is an Illuminare story (ie one I would previously have written under the penname reserved for my darker stories.) This is dark. This is a little twisted. Lucius is twisted, as much as we love to romanticise him. Sometimes he needs to revel in his own twistedness. MATURE READERS ONLY. NOT RECOMMENDED FOR FANS OF RON.**

**On another note, I've got another one - a book that is. The other me, Demelza Hart, has just had the second book in my trilogy published. I'm chuffed and excited - so apologies for a little squeeing. 'Exposed' follows the further adventures of The Suit and Tara. Believe me, they're worth following. Quick links can be found on my profile page.** **Any honest ratings and/or reviews are greatly appreciated and, trust me, make ALL the difference.**

**Okay, Lucius, over to you. You do inspire hate and adoration in equal measure, you wicked, gorgeous man. I have to say, I LOVE writing him like this, as perverse as that sounds.  
**

* * *

I enter her cell a few days later. The wait has been hard but I take pride in my ability to bide my time.

'How are you today, Miss Granger?' I ask with gentle decency.

She stands quickly and moves away from me, retreating into the corner.

'I am glad to hear you are eating again. I hope the food is to your satisfaction.'

I have been tempting her, instructing the kitchen to serve up appetising morsels. Her plates have been returned clean.

'I hadn't noticed.'

'Oh, I think you have. The occasional little treat is so important, don't you think?'

'Treat? I'm a prisoner in your house, Malfoy. The concept of treats is about as far from my mind as possible.'

'Well then … perhaps that should be remedied.'

'What do you mean?'

'What could be offered to you to ease your situation?'

'Freedom?' she snarls.

I give a slight smile to acknowledge her sarcasm. 'Impossible, Miss Granger … but perhaps … something else?'

She glances at me, curious, I can tell.

'I have no desire to keep you entirely without pleasure, Miss Granger. The strawberries, for example … you enjoyed those, didn't you?'

She sneers. 'Save your benevolence, Malfoy.'

I move closer, coming to stand right behind her.

'But pleasure can be derived from many sources. Why deny yourself if it is offered willingly?'

There is no response.

'You have so little to comfort you here. Chill, dank, damp, hard … your body grows tired of it, doesn't it? Don't you long for something else?'

'No.'

'Surely. Your body has been denied human contact, denied warmth and affection. Denied ... touch.'

There is the briefest pause. 'I don't care.'

'Oh, of course you do. We all do. We all crave touch, long for it.'

'We can suppress those things.'

'Can we? You may be a great intellectual and a ferocious warrior, but you are still human.'

She glances at me over her shoulder, clearly startled at my compliments. They come easily enough – I am surprised. I indulge her further with a soft smile – my most human. For a moment, she cannot look away then she lowers her large eyes quickly.

I lean into her and cast my eyes over her, caressing her with my gaze, stroking her with a long look. Her breasts are heaving; she struggles to breathe evenly.

'Just think,' I whisper. 'Soft, tender, stroke and smooth … touch. Warm. We all seek it. Even I.'

She turns defiantly and glares. 'Not you.'

'Oh yes. For under it all, Miss Granger, let me assure you … I am as human as you.'

She'll like that. Appealing to her sense of communion. But her eyes are so deep, her mouth so soft … I am beyond contrivance. I am hard, so fucking hard. If I step any closer she'll feel it. That may alarm her. I restrain myself, but my hand moves. There is a lock of hair caught on her chin. Surely it tickles? Doesn't she notice?

My forefinger catches it and pushes it off, gently, tenderly. She gasps, surprised at the touch, and takes an instinctive step back but there is nowhere for her to go. She is backed into the corner. I stare into her face. She stares back, open, human. Yes. That is all.

'Don't', she murmurs, barely audible. Don't what? I'm barely doing anything.

My hand drops and, agonisingly slowly, slips to her jeans. I find the button, and slip it out. She must feel the loosening around her waist. I don't stop looking at her. She looks right back, not daring to blink. I take hold of the little zip and pull it down. It makes the faintest noise. She does nothing to stop me.

'Please,' she whispers. She means please stop but she is fooling herself. I'll play with her. My fingers seek down inside her underwear: soft cotton, I note. My cock groans with need.

My fingers work down, grazing over downy soft curls. She locks eyes with me, wide, pleading, confused.

'Tell me to stop and I will,' I say, soft but assured.

Her mouth opens but no words come. I'm nearly there. So warm. I swallow to deaden my arousal. Does she notice? Her eyelids flutter and a slight breath is caught in her throat.

'This is so wrong.'

I'm so close. I pause for a moment, stroking just above my goal, sweetly, inquisitively.

'I … mustn't …' she says but I feel a pressure on my fingers. She is pushing against them.

'I will stop. Say the word. Say it. Tell me to stop.'

'Please … you can't …'

Soft hairs, downy, slight, then down, my middle finger, long and searching. There. Perfectly placed in the middle of the valley. I touch her at her point of pleasure, of abandonment. She sighs out, an open, earthy sigh, and her eyelids do that fragile fluttering movement again. I crave more. Warmth, now wet, dewy, sweet, succulent, oozing and leaking.

My longest fingers slides down that wet beauty. So wet. So very wet and growing wetter. Down and under until I find the place and curl up into her. Just a little. Dipping, then out and up to find that nub which will make her mine. I rub, slowly.

'Oh …'

That's all. Just a long sigh out, almost a sob. And she pushes onto it again.

I work now, slipping, grazing, circling, parting the soaking flesh and teasing her clit, making it swell and making her jerk.

She's biting her lip. Her neat little teeth press down into the plump red flesh of her bottom lip. I want to do that. I want to bite her lip and taste it. Fuck, my cock will explode. She's ready. Nearly there. Her eyes are wide, her breath jagged.

I have to do it. Why spoil the perfect build-up? It breaks me to do it, but I won't regret.

So I step back, pull my hand away and hang my head, feigning shame and confusion. I turn away.

'Miss Granger … forgive me.'

She sobs. A real sob. A sob of abandonment. She actually shudders as her body tries to adjust to the loss of expected release.

'I must not take advantage in this way. I may be your enemy …' I look her fully in the eyes, placing a look of remorse in mine. 'But I am not a monster.'

'Oh God, but …'

I shake my head and hold up a hand to reinforce my regret and the paradox of her tormented mind. (Ha!) 'No, Miss Granger. You have nothing to say. Nothing for which to blame yourself. I must look to myself and my weakness.'

I turn from her and shut the door.

-xox-

Once outside I lean against it and breathe, deep recovering breaths. Fuck, I can't keep this up much longer. I impress myself, I must say. Such restraint, Malfoy, bravo. Eventually, my raging erection subsides. I turn to the left and head towards the adjacent cell.

I enter. The Worm tries to throw himself at me but is prevented by the binding wards.

'You fucking bastard! You cocking cunting twatshit!'

He's amusing, I'll give him that. Even his insults are infantile.

'Now now, Worm. In the absence of you, she needs some attention. You wouldn't deny her that, would you?'

'Fuck you!'

'As I'm sure you saw, there was no coercion. Hermione was more than willing.'

'Don't call her that!'

'And so very wet. I cannot remember the last time I had a woman so positively … _dripping_.'

'I'm gonna kill you. When this is over, I'm gonna fucking kill you, Malfoy.'

I merely smirk and come closer. I look down at my hand, the hand which has been in her, then glance back to him. Slowly, I raise my arm and hold out the hand towards him. He recoils back, but a quick spell prevents him from being able to avoid me altogether. He is held in place.

I bring the fingers closer, so that they are right up against his nose.

'Smell, Worm. That's her. That's her desire, her lust, her need … for me.'

He tries to turn his head away but my hand follows him.

'Do you remember that, Worm? How many times were you close to it? Not many, I should think. I, on the other hand …' I smirk and ensure he can't escape it.

His eyes are closed tight but the scent drifts up his nostrils, there is no doubt. I hold my hand there, forcing it on him. And then a curious thing happens. His mouth opens and his tongue flitters. For a mere moment I think he's going to taste my fingers. I can see his tongue poised, craving. Shall I indulge him?

Of course not.

I draw back swiftly and release the spell. He falls in a crumpled heap to the floor.

'Worm.'

His sunken eyes turn up to me, his face twisted with hatred.

I bring my fingers up to my mouth, push them in as if savouring a lollipop, and suck. It is for his benefit (or shame, rather) but my cock jolts again. The taste of her. The fucking beautiful taste of her. I carry on until I can get no more of her remnant off me. He stares, unable not to, his mouth slack.

Then I step out and lock him in again.

-xox-

I'll keep her waiting. As much as it torments me, as much as my cock strains to be buried inside her, I'll keep her waiting. After all, absence makes the heart etcetera and all that.

And I deny myself. Every night (and at various points during the day), at the mere thought of her pert breasts, her dewy eyes, the memory of her warm succulence inviting me in, my cock will stand to attention and demand I attend to it.

I don't.

I don't so much as adjust it. It can suffer. It can wait. And it will be rewarded in time.

For five days I give her nothing. Not so much as a murmur outside the door.

On the sixth day I walk past her cell, heavily, then stop outside and graze a hand against the door. She will hear it. She does. I hear her call, 'Is anybody there?' Not in a fearful way. Oh no. With optimism, with expectation.

I want to go in. I lean against the door, my groin pounding, my lust throbbing.

'Hello?' she calls again, that same hopeful tone in her voice. Then, as heavily as before, I let my footsteps retreat away. I will have left her bereft, I hope.

Next day, I give her nothing. The Dark Lord keeps me occupied anyway. It's a welcome distraction. I am as tormented as she is.

The day after, I return to the door and repeat my actions. This time I knock, hesitantly, twice.

'Who's there?' she asks quickly.

'Me.' It's all I say. Rather enigmatic, don't you think?

There is a pause.

'Malfoy?' she asks.

'Yes. It's me … Lucius.' Oh, I like that. Tease her with the promise of familiarity.

I wait. So does she. Eventually I offer, 'Miss Granger …'

'Yes?'

What should I say? Ask after her? Offer food? Water?

Instead I simply remain silent but shuffle against the door. She knows I'm there. Then I leave.

The agony to my cock is offset by the roar of triumph at my brilliance.

The next day nothing. And the next. I even refrain from spying on her. I impress myself. Four more days I deny us both. Four days of emptiness and exquisite unseen foreplay.

Tomorrow, I'll have her.

* * *

**Oh, bad man. If you change your mind, there's always me. **

**(Don't forget the further goodies on my profile page if you're interested.)**

**More of this and Entrancing Wendy very soon. LL x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Remember, no fluff here. Lucius is not a pleasant person in this. He does not treat Ron well, be warned. And Hermione? ... Read on.  
**

* * *

Tomorrow comes. Damn my cock. It practically forces its way from my trousers in its desperation.

I wait until mid-afternoon, as long as I can manage. The castle is silent. The others are away for now.

First I check on the Worm. He's awake. Good. We need his full attention.

I approach her cell door silently. I will surprise her this time, startle her, catch her out, see her jump.

I open the door suddenly and sweep in.

'Malfoy!' she exclaims, sitting up.

I lock the door and turn to her. Her hair forms an unruly bird's nest around her head, but she has never looked so delectable. It is as much as I can do not to throw her down and drive into her immediately.

'Miss Granger …' I start, adopting my stance of deferential confusion. I glance across. She is leaning forward, sitting on her haunches, every limb straining towards me. Her eyes are bright, her mouth open.

'I have come to apologise … I have spent days trying to make sense of my behaviour … let me assure you, you may be my prisoner, but … I will not take advantage. That will not occur again.'

Keeping a stern expression of mock remorse, I look humbly at her (well, I say humbly …).

She stands, slowly. I have released all wards on the room; she can move freely. 'Mr Malfoy …'

'Please … there is nothing you need say.' I make to turn for the door.

'Lucius.'

Oh, sweet victory. I manage to hide my smirk.

I turn around, my eyes hooded, and take a single step towards her.

'What happened between us …' she begins.

I sigh. Effective, under the circumstances.

'Please … I want …' she stutters.

Want. That's the word. Say it again, you beauty.

I take one further step towards her, my brows furrowed in apparent concern. 'What? What do you want?' I ask as if I may be expecting her to say fruit or a blanket.

'I want … it to be … momentous.'

The surge of triumph.

I shake my head a little to feign bewilderment. 'I don't understand.'

'Please … Lucius … what we discussed … I …' She turns away, wracked with her own disbelief.

'Surely not …' I must tread carefully. Too much prevarication on my part and I will scare her off. But I'm adoring this little dance.

'I haven't been able to think of anything else.' She turns her head and her back heaves. Is she crying? Oh, don't cry. First times are messy enough as it is. We don't want tears as well.

'Miss Granger … please … take this.' I hold out a handkerchief. Silk. I hope she appreciates it.

She turns and takes it and her fingers brush mine. She is reluctant to break the touch.

'I've waited so long. I've waited for this. I've waited for something to dominate my every thought, for it to consume my body and make me throb with longing. It's happening now. So … this must be it. It's extraordinary. It's unbelievable, but that's why it's so …'

'Momentous.' I answer for her.

She nods.

'But I am … your tormentor.' I say it as if it perplexes me as much as her. (It doesn't, of course.)

'Yes. You torment me because you make me want you and I know how wrong that is. But the paradox of it only makes me long for it even more. I think I'll die if you don't take me.'

Take her? Oh, sweet Merlin, she's using language I like very much. Taking her was exactly what I had intended. But I'll still feign reluctance, just for a little while longer.

'Miss Granger … What happened the other day confused me as much as you … I never intended …'

'Don't you want me?' she asks, almost sobbing at the thought that perhaps I don't. If she could see my cock, she would realise how utterly ridiculous that question is.

As it is, I simply look at her, my forehead creased. She is growing desperate.

'Am I not good enough? Am I not your type?'

I can begin the approach. 'Miss Granger. You are … perfection.' I note the brightness in her reaction. 'And how can I spoil perfection?'

'You won't be spoiling it. You'll be completing it.'

I hold her gaze and take one further step into her. I am planning my next subtle move when something most extraordinary happens.

She takes hold of her top and pulls it off, then her bra. Her top half is utterly naked before me. Her perfect breasts sway before my eyes, the nipples already tight and hard in the chill air. Fuck. Fuckety fuck fuck fuck. I confess to being a little taken aback. I'm gawping. How undignified. I really must not do that.

I distract myself by glancing over towards the Worm's cell. He's come to the glass and is staring, his mouth hanging like an ageing hound, his expression blank but his body tight. He stares at her.

'Miss Granger, please …' I turn my head away, adjusting to the situation rapidly. Things are going rather well, don't you think?

She hurries over to me now. Her breasts are there, right there. If I reach up I can touch them, stroke, flick the nipples, tug them. Would she like that? A little pain. A little nipple pull? I want to find out. I'd like it, certainly.

'Lucius … you. I want it to be you. Here. Now. Momentous. I can't think of anything else. I've dreamed of you and longed for you every moment of every day since you touched me. Please.'

She takes hold of my hand and brings it over to her knickers, pushing it down inside.

'I'm ready,' she says, most assertively.

As my finger slides down into her again, that is more than confirmed. She's as wet as anything.

'Don't stop this time. Please don't stop this time.'

Well … if you insist.

I work along her as I did before, still frowning, still feigning reluctance. She pushes down her jeans and pants and steps out nimbly. She's naked. The Granger girl is naked before me. Oddly, the first thing I do is warm the air around us. I don't like to think of her being cold.

I step in, not removing my hand, unable to. Now my frown turns to one of determination. And now there is no deceit, no foolery. What follows is utterly honest and truthful, I tell you. It is me and it is her. He watches, I know that, but I barely realise.

I look down, my own breath deep and heavy. 'Lie down,' I say, low but certain.

Together we move until she reaches the bed and falls back against it. Her legs part, willing me in. I stare down at her. Open, wet, glistening, ripe. I can do nothing else. I fall to my knees and push her legs apart. She sucks in sharply in anticipation.

My thumbs part her outer lips, exposing her clit which is red and full. So I taste it. I lick, one long slow lick, gathering in her juices then ending with a hard lave across it. She gasps.

Gods, the taste of her. Like a homecoming.

I flitter my tongue, over and over, darting it along her clit, then back to long slow laves. She moans, holding me upon her, clenching her body in time to my developing rhythm. Already I can sense our mutual instinct, our fit. I am so hard it hurts.

I pull back briefly and remember Worm. He is standing, hands against the glass, his face drained with despair, but unable to look away. I allow myself a little reversion to type and give him a sly grin before his woman pulls my head down to her sex again. I bury myself in it now, inhaling, licking, drowning in her ever-pouring juice.

'Oh, that's so wonderful … that's so wonderful …' she murmurs repeatedly, half to herself, as if she can't believe it. I will make it wonderful. I will make her believe. Her desire has been stoked, her pleasure is poised. Her clit is positively swollen. I close my mouth around it and suck, pulling it into my mouth between my lips.

Yes.

She comes. Fuck, did I ever know a woman coming until now? She tenses, then shudders, all along her sweet body, then opens her mouth and cries out – a strange, disembodied sound of sheer abandon. She is out of herself and flying and I've done it. Me. Malfoy.

And now I must take her. Have her. Claim her. Break through her.

Her pleasure goes on. I don't take my mouth away until I'm sure it has left her completely. But now it's mine to take.

I try to hold back in case she has a moment of anxiety. I lean over her, stroking her face. She is glowing, red with pleasure, her eyes glazed, her mouth slack.

'I'll have you now,' I say. Fuck. I didn't mean it to come out like that. Is she alarmed? She seems only to arch towards me.

I stand up and pull off my clothes. She stares, her eyes glued to me as my body is revealed. I have a body hewn from years of hard work, dark work. I revel in letting the muscles flex and cord before her.

Her eyes drop to my groin. Patience. I move my fingers to my buttons and glance at Worm. He's banging silently on the glass now, the fucker. It makes my fingers nimble.

I push down and it lurches out, free at last. Her eyes widen. I'm not small, shall we say. I'll grant her a moment of intimidation. Any first time must be a daunting enough prospect, but when faced with a thing of such immensity …

For the first time a look of anxiety captures her. A strange sensation comes over me. I recognise it – it is concern, it is care. Instinctively, I lean over her and stroke her cheek.

'Are you sure?'

What have I said? Why did I say that? I think I meant it. How strange.

She looks up at me, her eyes wide and giving. She gives me a little smile, the most honest smile I've ever seen. Something inside hurts. I bend down and kiss her. A soft kiss at first, tender. She must be able to taste herself on me. She opens her mouth for more and I give. Our kiss becomes hard and searching; our breath mingles, drawn in in harsh drags.

When I pull back her lips are bruised and she arches up.

'I'm sure.'

Now. _Now, Malfoy._ My cock lurches and rears. I mutter a spell to raise the bed so that her open legs are level with my groin as I stand.

I glance over at Worm and lock eyes with him. His defeat is about to be complete. He is still staring but now seems slack and useless, as indeed he is. My cock swells yet more.

But back to her. All her.

I push her left leg to the side, opening her completely.

I'll hurt her, I know it. She knows it. Our mutual acceptance of the pain makes it quite delicious.

I position myself, wanting to delay yet unable to. I am compelled into her.

Our eyes lock and I push forward. Oh fucking bliss. I can barely get in but already I am joyous. But I can't go far. Her barrier prevents me, blocks me, holds me back. _No, you are mine and I shall take. _Determination surges through me. I grip her hips, clench my jaw and thrust, hard.

I break through. She cries out. I push through again, harder still, right in, tearing through her maidenhead. She is hurting. Another cry.

But I'm in. In her. And … sweet Merlin. Fuck! Oh Gods, save me, for I could lose myself in this woman.

Sensational. The tightness of it is like nothing before. And warm. 'Fuck!' I exclaim, head back, neck strained.

I pull back, not thinking of her pain, and then push hard through again. She cries out. 'Ow! Oww, you're so big!'

Her words make me focus, although the exquisite grip on my cock is such that it's impossible for me to go easy. 'I'm hurting you,' I state the obvious. She nods, but it's a nod of acceptance. I push through again and she gasps. 'Tell me all you're feeling.' I want to hear it. I demand it.

'Full. You've filled me. Oh God, you've filled me.'

'It's good to have that. It's good to be full, isn't it?'

She nods and clenches on me. Fuck! We're through the first level of mere pain. She wants it. She seeks it. Her cunt grips me and I swallow back my pleasure.

'More, tell me more.' I pull out, slowly, knowing her tender flesh will protest. Her face twists but she clings to me.

'Don't come out of me. Want you in me, fully, all the way. You're so big. So hard. I didn't know it could feel so hard. I like it. I like to feel that.'

I remember the Worm. One hand rests defeated on the glass, his forehead too. But his other hand is elsewhere. It's on his cock. The Worm is wanking. The little shit. The traitor. I laugh. I laugh in triumph and power into her. She cries out again. I move again and she does it again but still she clings to me. Worm's hand remains on his cock – his puny cock – pumping it frantically.

I lean down over her and kiss her before dipping a head to those beautiful breasts and sucking on a nipple. She arches into my mouth and moans.

'I'm going to make you come again,' I slur against it, nibbling on it, suckling on it, teasing it with my teeth. It swells and hardens on my tongue.

'But it hurts,' she whines, a sweet whine of confused delirium.

I pull up and take her face in my hand, forcing her to look at me. 'Use the pain. You can use it. I'm going to make you come now, Hermione, with me inside you, deep and hard. Do you understand me?'

She nods, wondrous. I stay close, leaning over her, and pull out a little. I reach between her legs and find her clit again, flicking it carefully. She moans and her eyes flutter in that delightful way she has.

I move her down a little so that her legs extend further off the side. When I push into her this time I know I've caught that special place inside as she sucks in a breath. Not a sharp breath of pain but of surprise. I keep stroking her clit and easing against her G-spot.

'Use the pain, Hermione. Feel me through the pain. Use it as a scaffold to pleasure.' I'm moving regularly now, squeezing into her tightness, pushing right into her, filling her.

She groans, a slight catch, but then more pleasure.

'Good girl,' I encourage. 'My good girl.'

She nods. Mine. She knows it.

Hellfire, I can't hold on. I need her to come. I want her to come. I start to move desperately, rubbing her clit, taking her hard. She must still be hurting, but it has changed to a sheen of sensation which she feeds off.

I push through, grunting out my need, exhorting her to come.

There. I feel it. Oh, fucking glory, I feel it. Her orgasm is so strong it grips me, preventing me from moving while it races through her.

'Lucius! Oh God, oh Lucius!' She is delirious. Her eyes, wide, unseeing, stare above her, trying to focus on me but unable. She shakes, she moans. And my cock is held so tight that I come too. I come so strongly I nearly weep. My seed shoots into her, my cock bursts out within her body. And she is mine.

And for now, that is all that matters.

* * *

**There will be more. I'm really enjoying writing Lucius like this, even if it is a little unusual for me.**

**If you'd like a little extra reading over Christmas, don't forget to check out my Demelza Hart stories (links on my profile page). Much enjoyment for very little, trust me. **

**More soon. And more Entrancing Wendy even sooner. LL x**


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